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<title>I've Accepted The Cannibalism, But If That Turns Into A Foot Thing I'm F*cking Out by DontOffendTheBees</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225231">I've Accepted The Cannibalism, But If That Turns Into A Foot Thing I'm F*cking Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees'>DontOffendTheBees</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Achilles and Patroclus references, Bickering, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Cuba, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Foot Massage, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal is a snob, Hannibal vs. Sandals, Humor, Inspired by Nerdist Reunion, M/M, Married Life, Murder Husbands, No actual foot fetish but Hannibal's a weirdo, No one's sucking anyone's toes but it's a damn near thing, Partial Nudity, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sassy Will Graham, Sunsets, but in that pretentious and flowery and morbid way of theirs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:07:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was a perceptible change in the air when the gaze reached his feet, a tangible twinge of distaste, and Will couldn’t hold back a harsh bark of laughter.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Seriously?” he said, rolling his neck and opening his eyes to look at Hannibal. “Are you seriously still bitching about those?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I did not say a word,” said Hannibal, clipped.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Will grinned and propped his ankle on his knee, bringing one of his chunky, practical sandals up to waist level. Hannibal followed it with a visible ripple of displeasure. Like a cat wincing at a whiff of citrus. Will shook his head and chuckled. “Jesus, you’re easy.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In which Will torments Hannibal with his choice of footwear.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>391</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I've Accepted The Cannibalism, But If That Turns Into A Foot Thing I'm F*cking Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Sunday's are my 'follow your heart' days, and today my heart said write Hannibal getting mad at sandals, so that's what's happening.</p>
<p>If you have a foot fetish, you might wanna click away, Will Graham's kinkshaming (pretty rich coming from him, right?)</p>
<p>Really nothing more to say about this tbh, they're happily married in Cuba, Hannibal's a weirdo, Will is a sassy little muffin, kinda standard. I wrote it this afternoon, any mistakes are mine.</p>
<p>Enjoy! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If you’d told him a few years ago that he’d grow so used to the feeling of being stared at that he’d come <em>enjoy </em>it, he’d have… well, not laughed, but maybe muttered something under his breath and shuffled awkwardly out of the room.</p>
<p>Will didn’t have to turn to Hannibal to know what he was looking at. <em>Who </em>he was looking at. Hannibal’s gaze settled over Will like an old coat, practically a second skin, warm and familiar and all-encompassing. Will closed his eyes and let it roll over him, familiar now with its patterns. It would start on his hands, caught by a certain twitch or gesture, in this case maybe the tap of Will’s thumb on the side of his beer glass. Then it would prowl up his arms, lingering on the snug fit of Will’s rolled shirtsleeves at his biceps, before continuing on to hug the curve of his shoulders and greedily seek out a sliver of chest or collarbone through the opening of his light summer shirt. Fortunately for it, Will usually had at least the first two or three buttons unfastened for ventilation in the dry Cuban heat.</p>
<p>After drinking its fill there, the gaze would creep slowly up his neck, savouring every inch, hanging on the bob of his adam’s apple, and Will could <em>feel </em>the satisfaction in the air as it lingered on the deep purple bruise under his jaw. Will rolled his eyes behind the lids, but stayed still as he let that gaze move up to his face and slowly catalogue every plane of it. The sun-warmed apples of his cheeks, the profile of his nose, a particularly long look at the bow of his lips. His eyes, too, for longer if they were open, but it would enjoy the view of fluttering lids and dark lashes all the same.</p>
<p>If Will were to reach out just a little, open himself to Hannibal and the feelings slipping through his careful control to bubble at the surface, he knew what he’d see. Knew he’d be looking back upon himself, but a version crafted from oil paint by a master’s hand. Not a dishonest portrayal, but a <em>heightened </em>one, every physical trait of Will’s held up to a magnifying glass and lovingly rendered, even the ragged scars and crinkled lines of age and exhaustion. Every <em>mental </em>trait- the good, the bad and the ugly- somehow layered in the paint, lending weight to the light and shade. He shivered as he felt Hannibal making those mental brushstrokes, but kept his own awareness carefully in check. The last time he let himself get too close to Hannibal’s mind in a moment like this, the decadence nearly overwhelmed him.</p>
<p>He felt the moment the gaze lifted from his face, and lazily tracked its progress. It wasn’t unheard of for Hannibal to retrace his steps and get a good eyeful of Will’s lower body, too, when they were alone and it wouldn’t be a crass public display. And Will had the dim awareness that he was doing so, now, gaze running like hands down to the dip of Will’s waist, the slight curve of his hips. The expanse of his legs, exposed to the waning sunlight in the pricy chino shorts that Will would never buy for himself but were sort of a compromise with Hannibal’s preference for tailored trousers in hundred degree weather. Not that Hannibal was complaining <em>now</em>, with half of Will’s body on display for his viewing pleasure, but he was enough of a petty, jealous fuck to get pissed at other people for getting the same view.</p>
<p>There was a perceptible change in the air when the gaze reached his feet, a tangible twinge of distaste, and Will couldn’t hold back a harsh bark of laughter.</p>
<p>“Seriously?” he said, rolling his neck and opening his eyes to look at Hannibal. “Are you seriously still bitching about those?”</p>
<p>“I did not say a word,” said Hannibal, clipped.</p>
<p>Will grinned and propped his ankle on his knee, bringing one of his chunky, practical sandals up to waist level. Hannibal followed it with a visible ripple of displeasure. Like a cat wincing at a whiff of citrus. Will shook his head and chuckled. “Jesus, you’re easy.”</p>
<p>Hannibal turned towards him slightly in his chair. They had the patio furniture set up in a similar arrangement to their old haunt in Hannibal’s office, but smaller, closer, more intimate, close enough that Hannibal could lean forward, gently but firmly take hold of Will’s foot, and stretch it across the short distance to rest in Hannibal’s lap. His fingers trailed over the fine bone and muscle of Will’s ankle with something close to reverence, but did not even grace the hated sandal with the slightest touch. “I would happily buy you new footwear, Will,” he offered, circling the joint. “If you’d like to take another look-”</p>
<p>“No, thanks,” Will cut him off, smiling sweetly. “I left my patience for enclosed shoes with the bad weather.”</p>
<p>Hannibal looked like he’d just sucked a lemon. “A replacement pair of sandals, then, if you insist on it. Something a little more fitting.”</p>
<p>“Something impractical, you mean.” Will nudged Hannibal’s stomach with the toe of his sandal, smirking. “What would you pick out? Something Greek, elaborate, something that goes up to mid-calf?” He lowered his voice, gleefully poking the bear. “Would you dress me up as Patroclus? I feel like letting you choose my sandals is a gateway drug to finding togas sneaking into my wardrobe.”</p>
<p>“I would never wish to dress you as anyone but yourself,” said Hannibal, palm sliding up Will’s leg from ankle to knee. “At the height of your potential.”</p>
<p>“So, to your impeccable taste.”</p>
<p>Hannibal’s blunt nails raked down his leg, making his breath catch. “If you like.”</p>
<p>Will laughed breathlessly, squirming as he felt Hannibal’s fingers follow the line of his ankle and foot, lingering on the wide straps breaking his journey like he meant to rip them off. “Tell you what- you walk around in the stupid things for a week, and maybe I’ll consider it.”</p>
<p>The <em>look </em>the ridiculous cannibal shot him was pure, unadulterated deadpan. “No.”</p>
<p>Will raised his eyebrow and waited. Hannibal did not elaborate. “...That’s it? ‘No’?”</p>
<p>“What more do you want me to say?”</p>
<p>Looking down at Hannibal’s feet- encased, as ever, in expensive leather shoes polished to a perfect shine- Will shrugged. “I don’t know. Thought there’d be more to it than that. A negotiation, or an explanation. Some kind of tragic backstory, maybe? Did a sandal beat your great aunt to death?”</p>
<p>Hannibal slipped his finger between Will’s foot and his shoe, tickling his instep in reprimand. Will lightly kicked back, neither surprised nor put off when he found Hannibal’s grip too strong to shake.</p>
<p>“Or maybe you disagree with sandals <em>conceptually</em>,” Will mused, drumming his fingers on his glass as he considered, voice dropping low to match Hannibal’s standard tones. He didn’t attempt to mimic his accent, but he figured he was getting the message across. <em>“We have spoken of Achilles and Patroclus in the past, though not for the reasons many recall the names. When most think of Achilles, they think of his famous fatal flaw. It is said that he was invulnerable, protected by unbreakable skin granted to him by the waters of the river Styx; only his heel remained unprotected, and it was that heel that would be his downfall. Lulled into complacency by his partial armour, Achilles was defeated by an arrow finding home through a weak point. Tell me, Will; are you satisfied with the protection granted to you by a handful of polyester straps? How jealously do you guard your weak points?”</em></p>
<p>Hannibal’s eyes flickered up to his, burning dark and implacable maroon in the setting sun. When he spoke his voice was clipped, level, and to Will’s trained ear, undeniably sulky. “Perhaps if Achilles had not been wearing sandals, that unfortunate heel would not have proved problematic.”</p>
<p>Will chuckled and wiggled his toes. “Did I nail it?”</p>
<p>“You made some valid observations,” said Hannibal, magnanimous. “But no.”</p>
<p>“So? Why won’t you wear sandals? I’m all ears, Doctor Lecter.”</p>
<p>Hannibal picked up Will’s foot, turning it this way and that. “You do have rather a lot of weak points,” he conceded to Will’s earlier point, giving him a dark look under his lashes. “Quite reckless, Will, to leave your lovely toes so exposed.”</p>
<p>Will narrowed his eyes. “Hannibal, swear to god if you suck my toes right now, I’m going back to America.”</p>
<p>“I’d be far more tempted to bite them clean off,” he said fondly, humming as he unbuckled one of the sandal straps. “Although I’m sure I would not know how to stop once I had started.”</p>
<p>“And they say romance is dead,” said Will flatly, sipping his beer.</p>
<p>“If it is, then we should not discount the possibility that these sandals killed it.”</p>
<p>Will laughed, wrapping his free arm over his stomach. He didn’t resist as Hannibal loosened the second strap and slipped the offensive shoe off, ducking down to press a kiss to the newly exposed strip of skin on the top of Will’s foot.</p>
<p>“I meant what I said about the toe sucking, by the way.” Will muttered, although he felt himself melting into his chair as Hannibal set the sandal aside and began digging into Will’s knotted muscle with his clever thumbs. “If you tell me you have a foot fetish right now we’re gonna need marriage counselling.”</p>
<p>Hannibal nipped the same skin, lightly chastising. “I admire every part of you, Will. Including, but not with any notable preference, your feet.” He traced the fine bones from ankle to toe, following cleanly the lines that the straps once interrupted. “Human anatomy is fascinating in its inner complexity and outward simplicity. What appears to us as nothing more than a wedge of flesh is in fact an intricate construction. Twenty-six bones, thirty-three joints, many possessing active levels of articulation. Over a hundred ligaments, muscles, and tendons. Every seemingly insignificant step is the action of a finely tuned mechanism; anatomical poetry in motion.”</p>
<p>Will smirked, urging his drooping muscles to tighten and sit up. Leaning forward in his seat, he brought his face closer to Hannibal’s. “So is that the cause of affont, Doctor,” he said, soft and teasing. “Does it offend your delicate sensibilities to see God’s perfect creation marred by polyester straps?”</p>
<p>Hannibal’s eyes traversed Will’s face once more. Cheeks, nose, lips, eyes. “Perhaps.”</p>
<p>Then he picked up Will’s discarded sandal, gave it a disdainful glance, and casually tossed it in the swimming pool.</p>
<p>“But to be blunt, William,” he said primly, patting Will’s foot. “I just find them hideous.”</p>
<p>Will stared at his lone sandal, drifting forlornly on the crystalline surface. Upside down, unmoving, sad and still as a dead fish.</p>
<p>“Joke’s on you,” he muttered. “They’re waterproof.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Epilogue</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could feel his gaze again, observing him from the back door. Surveying him approvingly, as he so often did when he caught Will like this; post-exercise, pre-shower, shirt discarded, lying in the reclining deck chair to catch his breath and cool off a while. He felt Hannibal’s eyes take their usual tour, hand to arm to shoulder, lingering on his bare chest. Neck, jaw, face, lips. Waist. Hips. Legs.</p>
<p>Feet.</p>
<p>The change in the air this time was more akin to the sudden onset of a thundercloud.</p>
<p>“See something you like?” Will drawled, tongue in cheek.</p>
<p>“Quite the opposite,” said Hannibal, audibly turning on his heel. “If you want lunch, you might make yourself decent first.”</p>
<p>Will chuckled to himself, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles. Sweat and aches aside, he felt excellent. Bright and energised with petty vengeance, satisfied in his tiny reckoning.</p>
<p>He did need a shower, though, and maybe a footbath. Sandals weren’t ideal workout footwear, not even all-terrain outdoor ones.</p>
<p>Not even when you lined them with socks.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you had a laugh! Love to hear from you if you did ^^ Always down to chat about these assholes!</p>
<p>Thanks for reading! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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